


Like He Did

by disco_theque



Category: U2
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disco_theque/pseuds/disco_theque
Summary: Set a week after Something From Nothing. It's not required reading before this, but it directly forms the way Bono and Edge's evening goes. Bono doesn't ask the questions, but he gets his answers about Edge's evening with Dave.





	Like He Did

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> This... also came fast. But I had to get out Bono's response to my last fic, and I had so, so much fun writing this. You don't have to read Something From Nothing for this to make sense (Edge's storytelling skills are that good), but it does give the background for Edge's feelings here, so.
> 
> The bendy knee thing that Edge started doing on the iNNOCENCE + eXPERIENCE tour makes an appearance here, and maybe it's not the most logical position for him to be in... but this is a work of fiction, is it not? :)
> 
> The comfy spot is a very real phenomenon in my house - my husband and I argue about who will get to sit here, and often compromise the way Bono and Edge do.
> 
> As always, zoolovelies is my shining light, the bestiest thing about me, and the reason I'm here.

Bono texts me a few days later and apologizes again for canceling, and I haven’t told him what wound up happening that night he cancelled on me and I’m not sure if I ever will but I accept his apology and his invitation of himself over to chill and watch television. We haven’t hung out without any sort of heated pretense in nearly two weeks now, which is very much unlike us, so it’s honestly a welcome imposition.

It’s rainy and cold when he rings my doorbell - the unseasonably warm snap that saw us through, well, some unseasonably warm experiences, has broken and when I open my front door to his t-shirt and thin sweatpants, I have to narrow my inexplicably paternal eyes.

“Heat’s busted in my car,” he explains before I can ask, then he’s handing me the pizza boxes and walking past me, inside. “A certain leggy professor of mine kicked the little knob and now I can’t turn it down.”

“Do you want my mechanic’s number?” I automatically reply, holding back a giddy exhale that’ll give away how crazy I find our new normal.

“Why Reg, you think so little of me. I already have it.” Before I can reply, he finishes kicking off his shoes and is off to the kitchen, his usual slams and thuds accompanying his search for plates (when I know he knows full well which cabinet they’re in). I can only imagine what Larry and Bono have found to talk about and I can’t let myself think about it too much because he’s yelling, “You haven’t bought more wine yet?” and I laugh my way into the kitchen because I realize that I was right - Bono and I are going to be okay.

“I’ve been busy!”

“A pizza night without wine…” he marvels, like it’s the craziest idea he’s ever heard (has he forgotten the events of Halloween weekend already?). But, he recovers quickly and loads up his plate with pizza and he’s off to the living room, and it almost makes me emotional, how routine these nights have become. I don’t need to see the couch to know he’s taken the best spot, the sunken-in corner with the attached ottoman, and my back will eventually grow sore as I’m forced to sit upright (why do couches have to have any spot that’s not entirely cozy?), so by the end of the night, we’ll be cuddled up together in his spot.

The night is young, though, so I take my usual uncomfortable spot, and Bono regards me with a thoughtful-looking mouthful of pizza. “Is there anything worth watching on tonight?” he asks between chews. There’s a little bit of sauce on his chin already, and it takes everything in me to not slide over and wipe (lick?) it off for him. I mentally applaud myself on keeping my cool (what’s gotten into me lately?) and point to my own chin instead, and he takes the cue.

“There’s a Seinfeld marathon on,” I offer, and it’s good enough for both of us. They’re episodes we’ve both seen countless times, and we both laugh at the punchlines before they’re delivered (“You _are_ Jerry,” Bono exclaims at one particularly neurotic joke) and it’s like the past few weeks haven’t happened. Or, maybe they have, but we are both adults who can handle these new developments in a healthy way? I’m not sure, but it feels good to have this night with my best friend.

A few episodes later, and we’ve both eaten too much pizza, and I’ve steadily worked my way closer to that coveted corner of the couch, and it’s so much more comfortable here and I could probably very easily fall asleep like this. Bono startles me a little when he stands up, announcing that he’s chilly and needs to go to the bathroom, and I assume he’ll adjust my thermostat himself, which is fine - why wouldn’t he very literally control my entire house? - and I give him an appreciative smile when he also takes our plates back to the kitchen. It’s a night that feels good and normal and safe, but when he strolls back into the room, I nearly choke on my pizza crust.

Dave’s flannel. He’s put on Dave’s flannel. It’s gigantic on him, the sleeves reaching past his hands and giving him the sort of paws that I loved warping into my sweaters when I was a child. The hem hangs nearly to his knees and I can feel my face flushing, the slightest bit.

“I saw this hanging on the back of your bedroom door,” Bono says as he settles back on the couch, and I’m not sure why he wandered into my bedroom and I’m not at all surprised to know that had I actually been choking, he would have just talked to me for probably several minutes before doing anything to help. “Looked cozy. It is!” He snuggles the collar around himself and I actually gulp.

I turn my attention back to the television, in a hope that my distracted grunt of a reply is enough for him, and it seems to be because he’s laughing at Kramer falling through Jerry’s apartment door not even a minute later. We otherwise watch the rest of the episode in silence, and it’s not until the next one starts that I notice I’ve been gripping the remote control for dear life.

The instant I acknowledge that is the moment the thoughts of Dave that had otherwise enjoyed their residence in the back of mind have now come flooding to the front, and I realize, probably too late, that I’m biting my lip and breathing more deeply than someone who’s just sitting on a couch should be. I don’t need to look at Bono to know that he’s watching me now, and I keep my eyes on the television. We’re barely six inches apart now, and I’m worried Bono can feel the heat that’s taken up residence in my cheeks, even though I know that’s not possible.

A few more moments pass, then I barely move my finger, and continue staring forward, and mute the television. Bono’s breath catches, but he otherwise doesn’t react, and I clear my throat, and keep my eyes forward - I feel the slightest bit more brave this way.

“That night you stood me up--” I start, my voice lower than I anticipate.

“I texted you!” Bono huffs, but I can hear the laughter behind it and he doesn’t protest any further.

“I stayed at the Peacock for a while. All evening, actually,” I continue, and I feel a little bit more brave when I realize I can tell this to Bono while staring at my television. “Y’know that bartender, the one with the hair?”

“Oh, yeah…” Bono breathes, and it’s clear he’s already putting things together, but he doesn’t say anything further and silently urges me on.

I turn the remote over in my hand a few times, and Elaine is dancing on the television and the past few weeks have been so much, so what’s the point of toeing around this? “He was there when we went out for Halloween. I think he even served me and Larry? I don’t remember to be honest,” I laugh a little, a shaky little sound that betrays the bravery I’m putting on. “Anyway. I was at the bar alone, and we… chatted,” I have to search for this word for a moment because it’s been a week and I’m not yet sure myself what our conversation of questions could be called. I hear Bono swallow loudly, just a few inches away from me but I can’t bring myself to look away from the television. I clear my throat again and think for a minute before continuing.

“You know how I am, though, B. He’d say something to me, and it would take me a moment to realize he was even talking to me, and then I had to think about every implication behind every word he said, and then I had to think about what I would say in response, and what he would possibly respond to THAT, and…” I trail off because I realize I’m doing exactly this, to the words I’m saying myself now. I shrug, though I won’t look at Bono yet. I can’t.

“Did you…” Bono asks, his voice so soft and low I hardly hear him.

“I wound up staying til he closed the bar. Til after he closed the bar, actually. Ehm… It wasn’t more than two minutes then, that he had me up against the wall.” At this, Bono gasps, and it fuels me on. “I don’t know how he knew, but he knew how sensitive my throat and neck and ears are, and… remember a few months ago when you took me out shopping and made me get those ridiculously overpriced jeans? Thank you for that. I think he liked how I looked in them.” I’m piecing the night together now; even though I remember it all clearly, it had been coming to me in tiny vignettes until now, and I’m talking a little faster, a little more confidently, but still so low, still more to the television than anything, though I can see Bono shifting a little out of the corner of my eye.

I have to pause now, though, because I know what’s coming next and the thought of saying it out loud overwhelms me.

“Edge?” Bono’s voice is dark and reverent, he’s clearly impressed.

“It was so quick then, so frenzied.” I decide not to tell Bono about our interlude of kissing, there’s something more intimate about that, in some way, and it’s not important, not now. “He bent me over the table. And he took his belt off.” At that, I hear a rustle of fabric, but I can’t bring myself to look, not yet. “He sort of, ehm, tied my wrists together with it, and he was so heavy on top of me and…” I trail off for a moment again, and steal the quickest glance at Bono. He’s got his pants shoved down and his shirt shoved up a little, and the flannel spread open around him, and his cock is in his hand but he’s not moving much, just holding it steady, but there’s a flush spreading over his body. He doesn’t notice my glance, his eyes are closed, so I turn back to the television and continue again.

“He didn’t… we didn’t have any… … ...I told him to just use spit--” A sharp inhale from Bono interrupts me, but I continue on, “He spit on his hand and he was in me before I could think about it and Jesus, Bono, I never realized that THAT is what it feels like for you.” I have to stop and think about this for a moment, because it’s something that never really hit me before this moment. Bono’s moaning a little now, so I decide to entertain the thought, out loud. “To feel him outside… and in… at once. And when he drove in as deep as he did and just. didn’t. stop. I didn’t know anything in that moment that wasn’t that feeling and it was too much but at the same time, I couldn’t get enough.”

Bono whimpers at that, and I finally properly turn to face him. I know him well enough to know that he’s close, so close, and I clear my throat and it startles him. “I’m… not done,” I tell him, and his eyes flick open and we stare at each other for a moment as he stills his hand and calms his breathing, “Slow down.” My hand is still gripping the remote control, I realize, and when I unclench my fist, my palm is sweaty and that reminds me.

“You know I don’t sweat,” I say, trying to steady my voice. Bono looks like he wants to reply, wants to joke about it, but he’s so gone; even with his breathing returning to a calmer pace, his eyes are black. “But Bono, I was soaked.” At this, his hand finds its way back to his cock, and I can’t help but lick my lips.

“What else… when did you… how?” He manages to get out, his voice shot, and he’s back to stroking himself furiously. I put my hand on his to stop him, and he jumps at the contact and I realize that this entire time, we haven’t touched each other and he gapes at me, panting.

“That hair, B? That mane that of his? I had to get my hands in it. I had to and it was wet with sweat and still so soft and when I pulled it he fucking howled and I made him go down on me.” I sit back with a satisfied smile at that, proud of myself for how I took control with Dave, and proud of myself for how easily I share this part, this absolutely delicious part of my story. Bono’s staring at me in wonder, his eyes and mouth wide, and I realize I’ve never once been this rough with him - and how much time I have apparently wasted in making sure we’ve kept things more gentle.

“Jesus, Reg…” he whispers, my nickname for a nickname, and it sounds like a prayer, with the awe in his voice.

“Bono…” I can’t help but murmur back. The thickness of my own voice surprises me, and Bono looks down at my gray sweatpants and smirks. There’s a damp spot at my crotch and I hadn’t even realized how turned on I had become, but the second Bono’s hand is on me, over my pants, I groan and buck my hips against it.

“Fuck me,” he manages to say, and I’m already nodding furiously when he adds, “Fuck me like he did.”

“Bono,” I breathe, again, because any of the brain power I previously had has been used up in telling Bono this most erotic story, and because it’s suddenly become crucially important that I get my pants off. “Bedroom?” I manage to ask between deep breaths. He’s just resting his hand there, in that most important place, and it’s shooting absolute fire through my veins.

“Dining room.” Bono says, and I realize he wants this, all of it, exactly how Dave did it.

“Oh, Bono…” I reply, leaning in to kiss his open mouth, and it’s all too much and I can’t think to say anything but his name, so I do a few more times between kisses, and I have never felt like I could come from just kissing but I’ve never felt this rush of intensity before in my life, not even with Dave, because with Dave, there was no emotions, no history, no feelings.

Bono pulls his pants back up with a sheepish smile, and sheds Dave’s flannel. In the horrible minute that we have to separate to walk to my dining room, my head clears the tiniest bit, and I manage to say, “If we break my table, you’re paying for a new one,” and Bono turns to me with a wicked grin and tells me he hopes we do, and the thought rocks me so hard I have to rest a hand on said table for support.

“So… You guys started against the wall, right?” Bono asks, and his voice has gone this mix of business - I can tell he wants to get this right and he’s taking it seriously - and pleasure that makes me laugh, and ordinarily I’d be upset I broke any mood with laughter, but right now, it’s the release I need, and it only makes my heart swell for this man. He’s put himself against the wall, face first, and he rests his forehead against it.

“Like this,” I say, turning his head gently, so his cheek is against the wall. “I need your ear,” I whisper into it, then trace my tongue around its little crests and valleys and folds. “Put your hands up here, like this,” I say, pausing to bite his earlobe. It takes me a moment to realize neither of us are wearing belts - we’re both in sweatpants - but after letting my hips shove against his ass for a moment, and savoring his breathy moans in response, I pull the drawstring from my pants and tie his wrists together. He’s bucking against the wall now, and just this sight would be enough to get me off if we didn’t have this task at hand. I have to stop and watch him for a moment, though, just a moment, because sometimes I can’t believe our relationship and all that this man has come to mean to me.

“Stop thinking,” Bono says, and just like that, I’m out of my head, and pressed against him, hard, and I know exactly how he can feel me against his ass. He whimpers a little at my insistent hips and everything kicks into hyperdrive - my senses, our movements, our rushed breaths. I’m about to tell him to get his pants off when I remember his wrists are tied together, so I shove them down for him and he whines, actually whines, when his cock meets the cold wall. I savor the sound, then I know what I have to do next, and the thought makes me lightheaded. We’ve never done this without lube, without hours of foreplay and preparation and gentle little movements, but I put two of my own fingers in my mouth and tongue them, and grin at the little “Oh,” Bono lets out when he hears them pop from my mouth.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I instruct Bono, and I know Dave didn’t think to say as much, but I care too much about this beautiful man to let myself hurt him, no matter what our game is for the night. His gasp when I slip one finger into him cuts right to my cock, and when I move it in further, the tight heat makes my head spin. He’s muttering incoherent syllables now, all broken words and breathy moans, and when I remove my finger, spit on my hand again, and go back in with two fingers, he actually screeches. It’s still just my hand, not my cock, and Bono is trembling between me and the wall and I’m so worried it’s going to be too much for him, then he cranes his neck and his forehead is covered in sweat and his eyes are blown wide.

We exchange some silent words in between heavy breaths, then Bono grunts “More,” and turns so his forehead is against the wall. His palms, flat against the wall above his head, smack at the wall in what I assume is an attempt to ease some of his tension, and the sound snaps my brain into gear. I fuck him with my fingers for a few more seconds, hitting him deep and hard, and he breathlessly groans my name and I know he’s ready.

It takes all my focus to shove my own pants down and all my strength to pull him from the wall, but he lets me position him so his top half is laying on the table and I have to pause and take in this shuddering man before me. This had to have been what I looked like when Dave had me in Bono’s position, and I’ve seen Bono like this before, so many times, but it’s always been so intimate when we’ve been together, always in bed, always in the dark, but now he’s spread on my dining room table, under my harsh can lights, and he looks so raw and exposed and… pink against the dark wood. I also realize we’re both still wearing our t-shirts; the back of his is soaked through with sweat and I’m sure mine can’t be in much better shape, and I’ve never found sweat so sexy before, but I’ve also never been with Bono like this before.

I can tell he’s growing impatient under my gaze, but I let him breathe for a moment, and when he wiggles his ass at me with an impatient huff, I raise my hand to my mouth again, and make sure the sound of my spitting is obscene. It’s a habit I find gross, spitting, but the sound of Dave doing this was so erotic to me, and it’s clearly having the same effect on Bono. I coat my cock the best I can, mixing the spit with the precum that’s been leaking since we were still on my couch, and god, has it really only been a short while since we were on my couch?

But now I’m moving closer to Bono, guiding my cock toward his ass with an only-slightly shaky hand, parting him with my other hand, and then I’m inside him, just an inch or so, and it sends a jolt rocketing through my body because he’s so tight, he’s absolutely not ready, but he’s hissing out breath through his teeth and he slides himself back the tiniest bit and I remember how I felt with Dave and I realize this is how Bono feels right now and the sensation of it is so much that I almost feel like I need to pull out but I don’t; my hips move almost on their own and I’m deeper, deeper, deeper, and he’s moaning a long, drawn-out sound that’s so loud, so loud. My hips thrust once more and I’m in, I’m all the way in him and his moan cuts off so suddenly I’m about to ask if he’s okay, but then he’s laughing, shaking and laughing and groaning all at once and it’s the most joyful sound I’ve ever heard.

I marvel at it all for a moment, almost entirely still save for my heavy breathing, but then Bono’s trying to turn so he can look at me and he growls out, “C’mon, Reg,” and my brain comes back to the present, and I snap my hips forward and he yelps, so I do it again and it’s all tight and heat and I do it again and again and then it’s all too much and I feel like I’m going to scream but all that comes out is a shaky groan that starts somewhere so low in my chest I’m not sure if it actually comes out with any sound at all, or if it’s just physical, and then I fall forward, panting. I’m not sure how long I stay on top of Bono like this, but he has to be uncomfortable, and he stirs a little under me eventually.

“Untie me,” Bono says, his voice so hushed it takes me a few seconds to register that he’s said anything at all.

“Shit,” I say, my useless fingers making hard work of a simple knot. “Shit.” I know what I did to Dave after he was done with me, and I know that Bono knows it, too, and I can’t get him turned over fast enough, so he’s sort of leaning, right-side-up, on the edge of the table. He winces a little as he settles back against it, but he flashes me a smile and mutters that it’s a good hurt and my legs seem to have forgotten how to hold the rest of me up, so I fall to my knees, but it’s okay, because his hands find my shoulders and hold me in place between his legs and his cock is so hard it’s nearly purple. “Tell me what you need,” I breathe when I can finally form the words.

“I’m so close,” his voice is strained and I’ve never heard him so hoarse and I recognize the tone immediately as the one I addressed Dave with and his nails are digging into my shoulders through my soaked shirt. The position is fine, and I can tell it won’t take much for Bono, but I’m still feeling a little daring, and I’ve been enjoying the surprised looks he’s given me all evening.

“Come here,” I grunt, and it takes effort, but I lean back so my knees are bent with my legs underneath me and my back is nearly against the floor, and Bono leans forward with me so far until he has to leave the support of the table and he winds up straddling my upper chest. It’s awkward and I know I’m not going to be comfortable for long, but I shift us around and pull him forward and down until, if I lean my neck up just so, his cock is in my mouth, and when he realizes this is how I’m going to finish him off, he looks down at me, wide-eyed.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Reg…” he softly moans, moving a little so he’s got his arms stretched out in front of him, above my head, his palms on the floor, and this way he’s taking the pressure off my upper chest but he’s over me in such a way that he’s all I can see and smell and feel and it’s so much, it’s too much and I feel like I could come again, but I focus all my attention on him, and he comes so fast, so suddenly, and with a sharp shout that I swear rattles my dining room windows. We didn’t break my table though, I realize, and the thought is so funny to me that I have to shove Bono off of me (he lands on his back with a thud that makes me laugh harder) and shake with laughter until he has to join in, and we’re laying next to each other, our heads touching, and I can feel the sweat on his hair against mine.

“Floor… sucks,” I manage to get out after a few minutes, after our laughter has died down and we’re still breathless, chests still heaving, but I feel so light.

“Couch,” Bono agrees from his spot next to me, and I know he’ll take the comfortable part of the couch, if we can ever get ourselves off this floor. “Water,” he adds, the rasp in his voice making him clear his throat a few times.

Getting myself to my knees takes entirely too much work, and I almost consider crawling to my refrigerator, but I manage to fully stand up. My underwear is damp when I pull my pants up, and I’m sure Bono’s will be the same, but I’m too tired, too happy to care, even though I know somewhere in my mind that we’ll be gross feeling in the morning. Bono’s still laying on the floor, a look of blissed-out exhaustion taking over his face, and I know he’ll fall asleep there if we don’t do something about it, and soon, so I shuffle to the kitchen, fill two glasses with water, take them to the coffee table (smile at the forgotten remote control, muted television that’s now showing the local news, and Dave’s flannel, stuffed in the corner of the couch), and walk back so I’m standing with my feet at either side of Bono’s waist.

“Come on,” I say, reaching down to him. He raises his hands up to me but the second our fingertips meet, he drops them to his sides with an exhausted laugh, and makes no effort to try again. “Don’t think I won’t leave you here,” I try to chastise him, but his face is so warm and innocent, that I can’t help but lean down and pull at his shoulders. He shimmies a little to get his pants pulled back up, but that seems to be it from him tonight. If he was cooperating, I could pick him up, but he’s dead weight on my dining room floor and I’m not currently in a state to do much lifting, so I try a different approach, and begin walking out of the room.

“I’m going to take the comfy spot,” I call, over my shoulder, when I’m out of sight. There’s a scuffle of sound, then “No, no, no,” coming up behind me, and he pushes past me with the grace of a linebacker. I can’t help but feel sorry for my couch as Bono throws himself into the corner, but he scoots himself over enough so there’s room for me, and he wraps his arms around me and I’m reminded instantly of Dave and I, against the bar wall, and I have to smile because this is so, so much better.

I un-mute the television - they’re about to begin the weather forecast, and I always like to see that - and Bono shifts around a little to get more comfortable. The cold front is sticking around, and we both unconsciously shiver at the thought. “Sleepy, Reg…” he mumbles after a few quiet minutes, and I have to lean up to kiss his forehead. It tastes of sweat and something undeniably Bono, and I can tell he’s falling asleep fast, so I pull Dave’s flannel out of the cushions, cover us both up with it, and click the television off. 


End file.
